Uptown Thief

by Aya De León

  “He wasn’t cool?”

  “More like a nightmare,” she said. “Do you really wanna hear this?”

  Woof shrugged. “I’m definitely curious.”

  Tyesha took a sip of her drink. “I would never have messed with that guy in a million years—I just got the offer when my tuition was due.”

  “Bills gotta get paid.”

  “I didn’t even end up paying the bills,” Tyesha said. “I ended up with a broken jaw after he wouldn’t pay because he couldn’t bust a nut in a condom. No amount of money is worth risking HIV.”

  “Damn,” Woof said. “I’m surprised you didn’t just quit.”

  “I did quit,” Tyesha said. “Went back to waitressing in the neighborhood bar with my jaw wired shut. But I learned from Marisol how to set up escort situations that are much safer. Since then it’s been pretty cool. But not cool enough to do if I didn’t need the money.”

  Woof traced a finger along her jawline. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said.

  A group of young frat boy types exploded into laughter.

  “Come on, baby,” Woof said, putting a fifty down on the table. “Let’s get out of here.”

  They strolled along the river, arm in arm. The night was warmer than usual for March, but they could see their breath. Street lamps reflected off the water, as well as distant moving lights of ferries and party boats.

  Woof stopped and put his arms around her. “So,” he said. “I was wondering if maybe we could go home together tonight.”

  Tyesha blinked and stepped back. “Whoa. Can you wait a minute before you make a move?” She shook her head. “I’m still trying to get the taste of broken jaw out of my mouth.”

  “I can make it better,” he said, leaning in to kiss her jaw.

  “Seriously,” Tyesha said. “Back up please. Give me a minute.”

  He stepped back. She folded her arms and stared out at the river.

  “Woof.” She turned to him. “I realize this is our third date.”

  “Our fourth date, Tyesha.”

  “Third,” she said. “It doesn’t count if I got paid.”

  “You expect me to be up here going on dates with you, and not get none, and sit around and listen about you fucking other dudes for money?”

  “You asked—” Tyesha broke off. “You know what? Never mind. This dating thing isn’t working.”

  “Not working?” Woof asked. “I don’t even date usually.” He began to pace. “I been a gentleman, I brought you flowers and took you out. Isn’t it time for me to get my reward?”

  “I’m not gonna fuck you as a ‘reward,’” she said. “I’m certainly not gonna fuck you if you act like an asshole. Not for cash or a fancy dinner. Obviously you can only think of me as a hoe.”

  “It’s what you do, isn’t it?” Woof said.

  “Fuck you, Woof,” she said. “That’s the only fucking you’re gonna get from me, tonight or ever.”

  “Don’t you walk away from me!” He caught up to her and grabbed her arm, spinning her around.

  “Get the hell off me,” Tyesha said. She reached for her panic keychain and pressed both buttons. An alarm split the air.

  “What the fuck?” he said.

  She twisted free and ran along the river.

  Chapter 24

  Half an hour later, the front door of the clinic was still boarded up, so Marisol let Raul in through the alley door.

  “Hola, guapa,” he said. “Guess what I brought you.”

  “I’m bad at guessing games,” she said, as they walked through the back hallway to the stairwell. “Besides, you didn’t need to bring anything.”

  “Flowers seemed cheesy,” he said. “So look what I found at the music store.”

  He pulled out a cassette tape of the Puerto Rican reggaeton singer Ivy Queen.

  “En Mi Imperio?” Marisol said. “I haven’t heard this in twenty years!”

  “I remember how you and Gladys used to blast it in her room,” he said. “My parents hated it. They were always trying to get Gladys to go back to listening to Menudo and Yolandita Monge.”

  Marisol laughed. “I know. Gladys listened to pop before we met, but I couldn’t stand that tortured teen-love shit.”

  “Of course not,” Raul said. “A badass girl needs badass theme music. I looked for a digital recording, but I couldn’t find one.”

  “Thank you,” Marisol said. “I have a tape player somewhere in my office.”

  “Bueno,” Raul said. “So while you’re saving the hood and plotting your world takeover, you can listen to this and think of me.”

  “Come on up,” Marisol said, taking the cassette and closing the hall door behind him. “I hope you like Ethiopian food.”

  “If I’m eating with you, I’m pretty enthused about it,” he said.

  They had walked up the same staircase the night before, but this time, the walls seemed to press them together. Every accidental brush of their shoulders sent a buzz through Marisol’s system.

  “I wanted to let you know how much I appreciate what you did for me after the shooting. I think you were the factor that gave me the benefit of the doubt.”

  On the fifth floor, she let him into her apartment. She’d never before had a guest other than Cristina or the team or that one visit from Dulce. Raul’s presence made her self-conscious, and she was aware of the light film of dust that had settled on everything except the bed, bathroom, and kitchenette. She noticed the unfinished attempt at washing the windows: One was clear and the other still grimy.

  “I’m almost never here,” she said, setting her laptop and the bag of takeout down on the counter. “I mostly live in my office downstairs.”

  Raul sat down on the armchair and sank into its ancient springs. “Is this Cristina?” he asked, looking at a snapshot of her in front of her clinic in Cuba.

  “All grown up,” Marisol said. “I’m hoping to visit her before she moves back in December.”

  “I been wanting to go there myself now that they’ve opened up travel,” he said. “Maybe next time I visit my folks in PR. It’s been five years since they retired.”

  “Gladys always said it was their dream,” Marisol said.

  “Yeah, they have a little house in Aibonito,” he said. “My ma’s got the garden she always wanted. My dad plays dominoes every day.”

  Marisol crossed to the dining area, where the takeout bag sat on the counter. She arranged the food on a large platter, bright sections of green, yellow, and red.

  She set out the injera and some salad, plus two glasses of honey wine.

  “I hope you don’t mind eating with your hands,” she said, washing up at the kitchen sink.

  “Not at all,” he said, taking the soap from her and washing his own hands. “I never had Ethiopian food before, but it smells great.”

  Marisol beckoned him over to the pair of bar stools at her kitchen counter. His knee bumped against the plywood of the counter’s false back.

  She tore the large circle of injera in half and handed it to him.

  “Do I make a burrito or what?” he asked.

  She laughed. “I’ll show you.” She tore a small piece off and used it like a tortilla to scoop up some red lentils.

  “Here,” she said, and placed the food gently into his mouth.

  “That’s really good,” he said. “Let me try.”

  He tore off a piece and used it to scoop up a chunk of savory chicken.

  “Para tí?” he asked.

  Marisol smiled and opened her mouth. Her eyes widened as the spice hit her tongue. “Whoa,” she said, fanning her mouth. “I told them to make it medium.”

  “It’s hot?” Raul asked.

  “Definitely,” Marisol said.

  “Show me,” he said.

  “I don’t know if you can handle it,” she said, scooping up some more chicken for him. “Let me add some vegetables to cool it down.”

  “Oh no,” he said, grabbing her wrist before she could dip into the vegetab
les. “Give it to me full strength.”

  She placed the food in his mouth.

  Raul chewed it and blinked, pressing his eyebrows down and trying to keep a straight face.

  Marisol watched him. When he finally swallowed, he busted up laughing. “Okay, that was hot. But did I play it off?”

  “Not at all,” Marisol said.

  “I can’t hide anything when I’m with you, Marisol,” he said. “I should know that by now. But you’re so hot I thought maybe it would cancel it out or something.”

  “Wow,” she said. “That was so cheesy.”

  “It sounded so much better in my head.” He laughed.

  “Moving on,” she said. “I just wanted to thank you for everything. Everything you did yesterday. Last night.”

  “I was glad to do it,” he said. “But I hope I’m not reading this wrong. I hope this is actually a date, and not just a thank-you dinner.”

  “It’s a date,” she said.

  “Good.” He smiled and ate a mouthful of salad and chicken, licking the sauce off his fingers.

  “I also appreciated the way you didn’t—you waited—” Marisol searched for words. “The way you slept on the couch.”

  “Curse of the nice guy.” He shrugged.

  She smiled and drank her wine, hoping he would say more, but he stayed quiet.

  “How long you been cursed?” she asked.

  “I think it’s a Catholic curse,” he said. “Goes back to seeing Santa María as ‘blessed among women’ and going to hell if you have sex. It sort of screwed with my head. Didn’t seem like you could be good and happy. Being good was supposed to make you happy, and if it didn’t, you weren’t being good enough.”

  “We went to church briefly with my grandmother,” Marisol said. “Back in PR.”

  “Did you grow up mostly here or there?”

  Marisol shrugged. “I was conceived in Puerto Rico, but my dad was bad news, so my mom moved to the States when she was a few months’ pregnant. I was born here. We lived in the Bronx until she met another bad news guy—Cristina’s father—and moved back to PR to get away from him.”

  “Bad news guys,” Raul said.

  “It was nice to live in PR,” Marisol said. “Those were the good years. Until middle school when my mami died and abuelita died a few years later and we moved back to New York.”

  “I’m sorry about your mom passing away,” he said. “And your grandmother.”

  Marisol laughed. “Yeah, I’m sorry, too.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “I’ve always laughed at inappropriate times,” she said. “You should see me at a funeral.” He laughed, too, and it broke the tension.

  “Maybe one of these days we could go someplace,” he said, almost shyly. “I gotta admit, I have this fantasy of taking you to the beach in Puerto Rico.”

  Marisol swallowed hard, remembering the dream.

  “My parents’ place is in the mountains, so the beach is really a day trip,” Raul said. “But my folks have this little cabin they rent out. We could stay there.”

  “With your parents?”

  “It’s up the hill from them,” Raul explained. “They wouldn’t bother us. It even has a couch for me to sleep on.”

  “If we were going to Puerto Rico together, you wouldn’t be sleeping on the couch.” She moved toward him.

  “I was kinda hoping the same thing.” He leaned in and kissed her, put a palm on her shoulder, and gave her skin the gentlest of caresses.

  “I just need you to know—” he began.

  “Raul—”

  “Just, just let me finish, okay. I can’t just do some one-night shit. Or one-week shit. Not with you. If you don’t want to, that’s cool, but just let me know, okay? I wouldn’t want—”

  “Shut up and kiss me, Raul.”

  She could feel him sink into the kiss, his hands firmer on her skin, pulling her close to him, the warmth of his body, the fierceness of his embrace.

  “There’s something you should know about this apartment,” she said.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “No couch.” She smiled and led him to the bedroom.

  He sat back on the bed as she stood in front of him. She had worn a tank top that snapped up the front, and he kissed her softly as he undid her top, snap by snap. Her skin buzzed everywhere his fingertips touched. After he’d undone the top, he slid it gently off, kissing the tops of her breasts and reaching around to unhook her bra.

  She unbuttoned his shirt, and slid her hands beneath his undershirt, feeling his smooth skin, hard muscles, and a bullet scar just above his hip.

  He unhooked the bra and buried his face in her breasts, kissing, licking, nuzzling, taking them each in his mouth.

  She gasped, unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his jeans, and slid her hands down over his hips, his ass, his thighs. He moved toward the edge of the bed, and she straddled him, feeling his erection against her belly.

  She was ravenous for him. All his skin against all her skin felt like it wouldn’t be enough. She yanked off his shirt and wrapped her arms and legs around him. He hoisted himself onto the bed and lay on top of her. She kissed his neck, his shoulders, his chest. He pushed himself up, straightening his arms, to give her room to maneuver. She kissed his navel, bit the top of his boxers and slid them off, then moved back up, brushing her lips past his erection.

  He moaned and threw his head back. She undid her jeans and slid out of them, then pushed off the bed, turning over, on top of him. He lay back, smiling with a tenderness that she had never seen before. Like his heart might break from the joy of it.

  She rolled on the condom and slid him into her. She started on top, then they rolled over and he slowed down, kissing her gently, stroking strong and slow. She had never felt like this before. She just couldn’t seem to get him deep enough into her. She wanted more of him. More of him, more inside, more connected, more. The air between them seemed like an unbearable obstacle.

  She let herself fall. She blinked up at his dark eyes, so open and clear, wrapped her legs around him and held tight.

  “Sí, mamita,” he said, stroking slowly, looking right in her eyes.

  The deliciousness of the sensations between their bodies edged out all thoughts. The only moment she could feel was this one.

  “Te gusta así?” he asked her.

  Yes. Yes. She liked it like that. Oh, just like that. Just like that. “Sí, papi,” she managed, just as she came, hard and unexpected, calling his name and thrusting against him so intensely, she made him come, too.

  When the tremors subsided, he caught his breath and pulled out.

  “I couldn’t help myself.” He smiled at her. “I wanted to keep going. I wanted to give you more.” He smoothed the curls from her moist forehead and kissed her, openmouthed and deep. She kissed back, one arm tangled in the coarse, curly hair on the back of his head, the other hand still holding his ass.

  He pulled back from the kiss and rolled them onto their sides. Looked her right in the eyes. “Marisol, mami, I want to give you everything.”

  He kissed her neck, her shoulder, as she started to cry.

  “Just let it out,” he murmured in her ear. “That’s right. You don’t have to be tough right now.”

  “I’m a mess, Raul,” she said, wiping her face on the pillow. “I don’t know how to trust anyone. I don’t know how to let my guard down.”

  “You seem to be doing an okay job, mi amor.” He kissed the tops of each of her cheekbones, her eyelids.

  “Part of the reason I never dated anyone in high school is that I didn’t want anyone to really get to know me. Boys, I mean.”

  “Hey,” Raul said. “I can see you’ve had some really bad guys in your life early on. That would cause anyone to have a hard time trusting, verdad? And I’m not perfect. But I’m serious about you, Marisol. Not just fucking around for fun. I been in love with you since junior high.”

  “I’m not ready for the L-word,” she said with
a laugh, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

  “I’m just saying,” Raul said.

  “Raul, I’m not an angel,” she said, sniffling a little.

  “Neither am I,” he said. “We’re over thirty, Marisol. Neither one of us is a virgin. I can guess that you were probably with VanDyke. My only question is, are you still seeing him?”

  “VanDyke?”

  “Are you seeing him? Are you seeing anyone else? Is there another man in your life, Marisol?”

  She laughed. “No, Raul.” She shook her head as she spoke. “I’m not seeing VanDyke, and I have no interest in doing so. I’m not seeing anyone else.”

  “Good,” he said and leaned forward to kiss her.

  “Yuck,” she said, pulling back and covering her nose. “I’ve got mocos.”

  “I don’t care, mujer,” he said. “I want you, mocos and all.”

  She reached for a tissue, and blew her nose, then kissed him back.

  He pulled out of the kiss. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he said. “I—that girl Nalissa—the last night I worked at the clinic—”

  “You all had sex?” Marisol asked.

  “She told you?” he asked.

  “No, but I could see she wanted to,” Marisol said.

  “It was just that one time,” he said. “A major lapse in judgment.”

  She put a finger to his lips. “No apologies,” she said. “No explanations. I would never hold anything in your sexual past against you. Let’s just start fresh.”

  “The freshest,” he said. “Same here. I’ll never hold anything in your sexual past against you. I’m much more interested in your sexual future.” He propped himself up on one elbow and ran a finger along the side of her breast, her waist, her hip.

  “What did you have in mind?” she asked.

  “Well, I’m not quite ready for round two,” he said. “The equipment is cooling off for a minute. Maybe I could use some alternative methods.”

  “Like what?” she asked.

  “Just a little old-fashioned kissing,” he said, kissing her neck. “And sucking,” he said, putting her breasts in his mouth and running his tongue across her nipples until they were hard.